


Truth Is A Whisper

by MomentarySetback



Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-06 20:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomentarySetback/pseuds/MomentarySetback
Summary: She's been left with a thousand questions. He would give anything to remember the answers.Alternate Eric/Calleigh storyline for Season 8. Begins post-7x25.





	1. Wreck of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Any Eric/Calleigh fans out there? I started this story years ago on another site and recently picked it up again. I currently have 12 chapters finished and will add them as quickly as I can. I've only posted Game of Thrones stories on AO3 so far, but thought I'd test the waters with a CSI: Miami Eric/Calleigh one. I have a LOT of E/C stories I could share here if there's interest! 
> 
> //
> 
> Re: this story... I always wanted to see the Eric/Calleigh conflict over his involvement with his father in season 7 dealt with a little (okay, a lot) better than what we got on the show. I just felt like that storyline – his involvement with his father, her shooting at him, him being injured again after previous close calls, the potential of what he was doing with his father, etc. – deserved a lot more exploration than we got on the show. So here we go.

Calleigh recognized the rhythmic beeping for exactly what it was – a lifeline, both for him and for her. The steady tone was reassurance that, despite the multitude of apparent injuries and hours of surgery, he was still alive.

Eric was still breathing. He was still here, despite her nerves almost convincing her otherwise. For a while in the Everglades, she'd dreaded moving on to the next search area for fear of the very purpose that brought them all here: finding him. Fear coursed through her because, in finding him, there was the possibility of finding only his body.

She'd tried to cling to hope like she knew he'd want her to, but between the blood in the car and the blood on Sharova there was a significant amount. His blood loss was extensive enough to disorient him, to make him stumble through the dangerous waters he knew so well. And then there was that stupid, melodramatic nagging fear that he would end up like all the other men in her life: gone. Simply gone. The universe would pay no homage to Eric being the most dependable person to come into her life thus far.

But he was alive. He was here, breathing on his own.

Calleigh treasured each rhythmic beep and dutifully observed every rise-and-fall of his chest with awe. There was still a possibility he wouldn't wake up, and even if he did the repercussions of the week's events would be unavoidable. This week had rocked their foundation, had questioned the trust in him she had so vehemently spoken of in the past.

Still, it wasn't enough to keep her from his side. Her trust seemed trivial compared to his life.

Exhaling heavily, Calleigh leaned forward in the chair, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Considering the distance they'd kept over the past week, she was afraid to touch him – afraid he wouldn't want her to. Half-truths and loaded accusations had been wedged between the perfect, trusting nature of their relationship until she wasn't sure what or whom she could trust anymore.

But one look at him reminded her that this was _Eric_ , and that was enough for now. The Eric she knew would want her there, holding on to both his hand and hope.

After bringing her chair closer, where she wanted to be, she took a better look at his injuries and felt her resolve again threatening to break. The distinct sting of tears behind her eyes began to blur her vision, but she blinked them away to focus on the scene before her – Eric in bandages and hospital sheets, those beeps her only consolation.

With an unsteady hand, she reached for him, her fingers gliding over his forearm before her palm finally kissed his. His warmth amazed her. Despite his close brush with death, his hands were just as warm as they always had been. Whether skimming them over her heated skin in a moment of passion or simply holding her close, his hands had always been warm and comforting against her skin.

Today the warmth itself comforted her – it meant he was alive, that he was himself in some way. And on a day when he had betrayed her trust and almost got himself killed in the process, she needed that. She needed _this_ – his hand in hers, despite her many reservations, and the two of them here, together.

Now he just needed to wake up.

//

Clorinda wasn't sure which stole her breath away more – the sight of her son, her Eric, hooked up to machines again and covered in bandages, or the sight of the very familiar blonde at his side whose hand was wrapped around his tightly, whose lips were pressed against the back of his hand in a gesture that rang of far more than friendship. The latter was a strong competitor solely because it explained the past four months to her. The secret smiles, his persistent absences, and that added light in his eyes suddenly made sense. Clorinda knew there was a woman, a likely important woman; she just hadn't expected this. And she couldn't even be sure, but somehow she was.

Both needing a minute to collect herself and not wanting to interrupt the sanctity of the moment, she hesitated at the door. She watched Calleigh continue to clasp his hand in hers, watched as her free hand traced the slope of his neck, and knew without a doubt that he'd been in good hands. By the looks of it, Calleigh hadn't taken any time at all for herself. She was covered in dirt from the search, black pants crusted with murky Everglades water and mud splattered across her entire body. Clorinda had never seen her looking anything less than beautifully put together, but something told her that appearance greatly paled in comparison to what currently lay before Calleigh.

The sound of the door opening had her turning quickly, and when she saw his mother coming through the doorway she immediately drew her touch away. Laying his hand down beside him and shifting uncomfortably, she smoothed her hands over her black pants to collect herself. She hoped her undoubtedly glossy and red-rimmed eyes weren't too telling as she met Clorinda's own worried eyes – deep brown, like Eric's.

There were no words, no time for pleasantries.

"Thank you for calling me," Clorinda said, looking almost as afraid to touch him as Calleigh had been. "I got back in town as soon as I could."

Awkwardly giving up the only seat at his bedside vigil, Calleigh moved away, running a nervous hand through her long hair as she searched for the strength to speak. Clorinda uncomfortably took the seat, feeling as though she'd stolen so much more.

"He, um, got out of surgery a few hours ago." She pressed her lips together, tears challenging her strong will. Trying to remain all business, she folded her arms over her chest and shifted her gaze to the window, away from him. "It was long, but they said it went well… With so much damage, though, they won't know how he is until he wakes up. And there's always a chance that…" She had to stop then, looking at his mother and steeling herself. She couldn't do it, couldn't even think it let alone tell his mother there was a chance that the fragment and the shifting and all the surgeries had just done too much damage, that he'd been under so long he might stay that way.

"…he won't?" Clorinda finished for her, and Calleigh was amazed by her strength.

"There's a chance," she repeated softly.

"They said that last time." Clorinda laid a sure hand over her son's chest and Calleigh caught sight of rosary beads. "He'll wake up."

Calleigh hoped because she had to, because there was nothing else, but she didn't have that kind of faith… She'd seen too many bad things happen to the best people to be that steadfast. Still, some part of her not only believed, but also knew that a world without Eric just couldn't exist.

"Thank you for staying with him." Clorinda smiled sadly as her hand wrapped around her son's, so much differently than the way Calleigh's fingers had woven intimately with his.

Calleigh smiled politely as though it had been some co-workerly duty or friendly gesture, but her eyes told otherwise. She was watching him as though her life depended on it, as though if she stopped measuring the steady beat of his heart it would cease completely and take hers with it. Toying with the pendant hooked around her neck by a silver chain, she stood frozen at the foot of his bed and Clorinda had never been more certain of anything.

"He would want you here," Clorinda said in an invitation. "You should go get some rest, but don't feel like you have to go… Stay if you need to."

She did. God, she did, but there was this nagging part of her that wondered just what exactly had put him in this hospital bed. Never before had she questioned her trust in him, but today made her waver.

And then her eyes trailed over his adorably scruffy jaw, his patient, loving hands that she wanted to hold, and she knew there was nowhere else to be. With tearful, questioning eyes, she looked over at Clorinda and smiled sadly. She knew.

"I don't know," Calleigh admitted, taking a slow step back from the bed. She was the girlfriend no one knew about – her choice – and after the past week or two she felt utterly uncomfortable with a place at his bedside, surrounded by family members who believed and trusted in him, who had absolutely no idea what he'd been into these past few months. "He needs family right now."

"Calleigh," she let out, and Calleigh marveled at how gentle and safe her name sounded on her lips. Standing, Clorinda made her way over, softly taking Calleigh's hand in hers despite her obviously guarded nature. "I've never seen him so happy. Even with finding out about his father and questioning everything, he's been smiling." She squeezed her hand gratefully, urging her closer.

This was wrong. Things between them weren't the same anymore. Getting to know his mother like this just felt wrong when today had broken them in a way she wasn't sure they could ever repair.

 _She_ had questioned his father's involvement. Not only had she done that, but she'd questioned his own. She'd practically interrogated him, showing so little of the faith she'd always had in him –with good reason, too. He hadn't been very deserving of it lately, with secret phone calls and half-truths.

He'd fled a crime scene and she still didn't know why. She'd shot at him and she wasn't sorry. He shouldn't have been there, and she couldn't be here now, not with people who had nothing but strong, loving ties to him. She couldn't be here with bad blood spilled between them.

Calleigh gently but definitively pulled away. "Actually, I was going to go get some of his clothes and things from his house…so he'll have them when he wakes up."

Smiling sadly at that, Clorinda nodded. "Here, do you need a key?"

"No," Calleigh said, stopping abruptly when she realized the implication. Lips tightening in an awkward half-smile as Clorinda eyed her with a knowing smirk, she shifted a little. "No, I don't."

"Okay." Clorinda nodded, looking at her son as she comprehended the magnitude of this relationship. "I'll call you if anything changes."

"Thank you," she uttered, turning.

"And Calleigh?"

"Yes?"

The motherly part of her couldn't resist. "Try to get some rest."

"I will," she assured, though she didn't think she could even manage to close her eyes.

//

His home was almost worst than the hospital. This place held far too many memories, from the spacious living room in which she'd fallen asleep to SportsCenter in his warm arms, to the breakfast nook in which they'd had far more than breakfast.

For a multitude of reasons, she wasn't sure they would ever get back to that.

Calleigh smiled sadly, forcing tears back yet again as the closing door echoed throughout the empty house with a resonant click. She settled her purse into its usual resting place, and, taking her phone with her, climbed the stairs. Managing to ignore the king size bed that taunted her with memories, she began sorting through cargo shorts, t-shirts, and sweatpants.

She had a duffle bag halfway filled when she lost her resolve. There was too much between them – too many memories, too many questions, too many things left unsaid. Suddenly she had the overwhelming urge to wash this day away. So she turned the shower on hotter than she could stand it and she scrubbed her skin raw with his soap until his scent had seeped into her body.

But it hadn't worked at all and her phone still hadn't rung. Now changed into the extra jeans and top she kept at his place, she gave in to the memories, letting them swallow her whole as she tucked herself into his bed. Maybe his mother was right. She should try to rest, if only for the escape.

_She woke to warmth and sunlight, the rays gently kissing her skin through the skylights above. This was the first relaxing morning they'd had together and it felt good to wake to sunlight and silence instead of a blaring alarm._

_Sometime throughout the night he'd tugged her closer, his body outlining hers from behind, his arm tucked over her hip. He craved that contact, needed skin and a heartbeat next to his. She never had, really, but she could get used to this. It was endearing, and could serve as ammo for later teasing if he ever dared to accuse her of being soft or girly._

_Straightening her body in a slow stretch, she shifted and wrapped the sheets further around her body. The movement made him stir, and no sooner had he turned than she'd collected the sheets and moved atop him._

_Chuckling, his hands searched through twisted fabric for bare skin as he met her eyes._

_"Hi." She grinned down at him, planting her hands flat against his chest._

_"Hello. Sleep well?"_

_"Yeah…" Teasingly, she let her hands glide over his skin until her palms lightly pressed against his abdomen then grazed across to his sides. "You?"_

_"Yeah." He finally found her knee and wasted no time letting his fingers curve around her soft skin. "I needed that. It's been a long week."_

_She simply smiled, because where the long weeks used to run her ragged and leave her bone tired, she was now finding ways to make them a little less daunting. Judging by his fresh eyes and glowing skin, so was he._

_"You look good." His eyes roamed appreciatively over creamy skin and curves disguised in beige sheets. She quirked a playful, challenging brow and he grinned. "In my bed, in my sheets, on me…"_

_"Mmm." She bit her lip as his fingers skimmed her thigh. "I bet."_

_Scooting up in the bed, he shifted beneath her to sit up and pulled her knees in until she was tucked closer against his body. His slow exploration of her skin had resumed in no time, deft fingers creeping along her thigh until he found the delicate curve of her hip._

_"You know," she began playfully as his lips landed on her collarbone, "I recall us agreeing to take things slow two weeks ago."_

_"That was a day before you showed up to my place in those jeans."_

_Laughing, she hooked her arms around his shoulders, allowing his lips to continue their sensual assault on her warm skin. "Oh, so it was the jeans? Good to know…"_

_"Or maybe just you." He smiled against her skin, palm coasting over her skin until it rested at the small of her back. "Besides, we take things slow sometimes…" His hands coasted over her skin pointedly, going both everywhere and nowhere, and his lips teased her skin with the lightest kiss to the base of her throat._

The shrill ringing of her cell phone startled her, but she grasped it immediately so her bleary eyes could take in the number. Clorinda.

"Hello?"

"He's awake." Her voice was filled with awe, and it seemingly traveled right through the phone to settle in the pit of Calleigh's own stomach. "He's asking for you."


	2. A Coffin of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a while to post this! I'm not as familiar with AO3 and it takes me a while to post chapters...but I'm determined to get the hang of it so that those of you who are reading can get caught up on this! As of now I have 13 chapters written and posted elsewhere, so that's a lot to get posted here, but I'm working on it. :) I really appreciate those of you who left kudos and commented! Please continue because it makes me know people are actually reading here and encourages me to get everything posted. :)

Gunshots were all he could remember – bullets shattering glass, ricocheting off armored cars and lodging into unprotected ones. That soundtrack kept playing on loop throughout his subconscious and he wasn’t sure if it was recent or two and a half years old.

The only solace was Calleigh, her touch both new and familiar, complicated yet simple. He knew that had been real, in the here and now, but when he’d finally fought off the injury and medicine induced haze, she’d been gone, her touch nothing more than a ghosting caress in dreams.

Everything else was a mess of gunshots, cars, and memories that didn’t make sense. He wanted Calleigh back there to tell him the truth in that way of hers – blunt, yet exactly what he needed to hear. Because right now, the thoughts and feelings that stirred within him at just the memory of her touch, of the mere mention of her name, were far too advanced for their last conversation.

_The air conditioning was doing nothing to relieve his body of the heat that a forty-minute run in the scorching Florida sun had created. Shirtless and breathless, he headed straight into the kitchen to pull a glass from the cupboard. As he filled it with water from the dispenser on his fridge, his thoughts drifted to the truffles, to Calleigh and – damnit, wasn’t that long run supposed to take his mind off her?_

_But it hadn’t at all. Despite pounding music and speed and exertion, she’d forcefully crept back into his thoughts. Why had she taken off earlier than usual? Did she have plans? Had she sworn him off after he’d choked and failed to tell her what he really wanted? He couldn’t blame her if she had, but he really hoped she hadn’t because she was wrong. He_ did _believe it, so strongly that at times it scared the hell out of him. Sometimes_ she _scared the hell out of him, which was a new experience that also had him stammering and clueless._

_He’d guzzled half the glass when his doorbell rang, and he’d just barely managed to kick his favorite sneakers off before he tugged the door open._

_“Calleigh, hey.” The surprise in his voice was evident as he looked her over. She was dressed almost as casually as him, her black blouse now removed to leave her in only a somewhat dirty white tank and her black pants scuffed with dirt and grime._

_“Hey.” She smiled, blinking a little in the sunlight – her sunglasses were tucked atop her head. “Sorry, is this a bad time?” she asked, taking in his appearance – all shirtless, sweaty and breathless and…really quite attractive._

_“No, not at all.” Grinning, he held the door open further and stepped aside. “I just got in from a run. You wanna come in?”_

_Fire. Playing with fire. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, discreetly taking in the way his basketball shorts hung low on perfectly defined hips. “Sure,” she finally answered, because she so rarely played with fire and something told her it would be worth it this time._

_“I’m just gonna…find a shirt real quick,” he said awkwardly, motioning down the hall. He ducked into the laundry room at the back of his house and Calleigh couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles rippled as he slipped the shirt over his torso. “So,” he began as he met her in the foyer, “what happened to you?”_

_“Oh.” Calleigh glanced down at the huge smudge on her white tank top. When she tugged at the hem, he caught the briefest glimpse of creamy skin. “A horse really liked me and decided he needed to rub his face all over me.”_

_He laughed, brows furrowing, but she was answering before he could even ask. “I went horseback riding…with that groomer we questioned today.”_

_“Oh.” Maybe she had moved on. “Like a…horseback riding date kind of thing?”_

_“Not from my end,” she assured, smiling. Eric couldn’t help but wear his heart on his sleeve and every worry about some horse guy sweeping her off her feet was currently written all over his face.  And then she scrunched her nose up in this adorable way and he was smiling all over again. “I don’t know. Is it naïve to have accepted it as just a horseback riding invitation?”_

_Chuckling, he bit his lip, imagining this guy tripping over her every other minute when all she wanted was a gallop around the track…and maybe a little company. She was a grown, confident woman; she knew when someone was attracted to her, but she was modest enough not to assume it._

_“When you look the way you do, it’s a little naïve.” The pointed tilt of his head and drag of his eyes over her body left few of his words without implication. “In a good way,” he added, assuring her with a smile._

_The corners of her lips curved upward in response and she shifted, clasping her hands in front of her. “I stopped by the lab on the way home,” she hinted, detecting recognition in his eyes. Smiling, she leaned against the doorway to his kitchen, thinking of the decorative box in her car, the delicate card with simply ‘Cal’ scrawled across it in his handwriting. “Thank you for the truffles.”_

_“You’re welcome,” he replied, and as he met her eyes he lost all those carefully constructed words that had been on the tip of his tongue earlier when her phone just kept on ringing. Now they were stuck in another one of those mutual longing glances, her green eyes holding his as she just nodded slowly._

_“So,” she began softly, breaking the reverie for once. “Was that your way of asking me out?” She was being teasing and playful, which they were so good at, but there was an underlying intensity in her eyes._

_He grinned. No – at least it hadn’t been – but he could work with this. “Yeah, actually, and you coming here was your way of saying yes…so we’re on for tomorrow night.”_

_“Oh.” And there it was – the outright forwardness she’d been waiting for, that confident charm he didn’t hesitate to utilize with all the other girls. She pressed her lips together to fight the broad smile that would cost her a win in this game of playful banter. “Well then I’m glad I stopped by.”_

_“Me too.” The distance between them lessened as he took a few steps closer, and soon his fingers were brushing hers at her side. He lifted her hand, admiring the delicate weight of it in his, the softness of her creamy skin. His thumbs slid down her palm, touching, admiring as his eyes flickered back to hers._

_She’d thought that after eight years of friendship the crossing of boundaries, the liberating of their long since tempered down attraction for one another, would be at the very least a bit strange. But this…this was wonderfully maddening, his thumbs now almost lightly massaging her as they worked down to her wrist, their eyes still locked._

_And then his hand turned against hers, loosely weaving their fingers together as he held them at her side. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”_

_Suddenly she remembered she needed to breathe, so she inhaled deeply and smiled. “See you tomorrow.”_

And then she was there – really there, not just in foggy memories and subconscious dreams but in the doorway to his room. Dark denim jeans clung to her legs while a simple white v-neck top hugged her curves, and all together the beautifully casual combination had him questioning reality again.

She was waiting, conflicted as though she was trying to gauge his reaction. As her eyes drifted between his injuries and his dull eyes, he thought he caught a flash of something in her features. Guilt?

“Cal,” he uttered, shifting in an attempt to sit up so he could see her better.

That was enough to bring her forward, to make her come right up to his bedside and place a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Don’t, just rest.” She swallowed hard, eyes watering as she pulled her hand away from his warm body. Her eyes flitted over him nervously and, despite everything, his lips curved upward just the slightest bit, misreading her hesitance as the awkward ebb and flow of all this emotion and attraction they’d been dancing around for years.

He noticed something more, though, and as she shook her head and fought tears he again sensed the notion that he was missing something.

She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where they went from here. Deep down, she knew she’d been in the right to question him. And she knew, without a doubt, that she’d been right to shoot at that car. It had come barreling out of a crime scene in the midst of flying bullets, and it had been headed straight for her and Ryan. She couldn’t have known it would swerve at the last minute, and she couldn’t have known that the “suspects” inside were not a threat – or were they?

Eric’s involvement was still a mystery, and until he told her the truth she didn’t truly know if she could trust him again – not in the field, as a friend, and definitely not in her heart or her bed. Still, the part of her that had trusted him implicitly for so long felt to blame. In the field, she’d been a threat to him, too. It was possible that she’d inadvertently caused some of his injuries, that she’d made him disoriented enough to lose control of the car. She’d shot at him. She’d _shot_ at Eric.

“I’m sorry.” Taking a step back, she shook her head, wondering how he could stand to just be here with her right now. A brush with death couldn’t just sweep away all the anger, confusion, and accusation she’d seen in his eyes as he drove away from her.

“Cal,” he said again, softer this time. His eyes held hers and he laid his hand flat against the hospital sheets, palm upward, waiting for hers.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” she admitted, and despite all the blame, despite all the trust issues, she moved close to take his hand in hers again.

“I need you to do something for me.” His eyes searched hers, lacking clarity but full of purpose, and her hand instinctively tightened around his, their fingers interlocking.

“What?”

“My mom,” he began, swallowing with difficulty at the dryness in his throat. “She said I was in an accident, coming from a scene.” He paused, watching her and knowing by the intimate way her fingers threaded with his that in some way his feelings had gotten the chance to soar far past longing glances and loaded comments.

_A flash of bare skin, her warm body arching against his as their threaded fingers pushed into the mattress._

Taking a moment, he blinked, first unable to look at her and then unable to look away. Memory, or dream? He’d dreamed about her before, and there was nothing like a drug-induced near coma for seventeen hours to make the mind run wild…

Ignoring it, his thumb brushed over her skin imploringly. “I keep hearing bullets. I don’t know if it’s from before, when I was shot, or… I don’t know.”

She watched him with disbelief, his eyes flitting over their hands as though searching for invisible puzzle pieces to put together.

“I trust you, Calleigh.” He looked at her again, eyes open and accepting yet confused. “I need you to tell me what happened.”

She hadn’t been able to help the disheartened sigh that came from deep within her chest, and suddenly her gaze was on him as though she were looking at a stranger. “You don’t remember?”

Focusing on the ceiling, he tried to think back to yesterday, but it felt like time had shifted on him. Everything was out of place, even them, and all he could remember were those gunshots. “No,” he finally answered. “I don’t remember coming to any scene, or…” Losing his train of thought, he furrowed his brows in confusion and the aching in his head grew sharper. “I don’t remember what happened.”

“You were there with Sharova.” She was a little too blunt, a little callous, but the realization that Eric might not have answers to her many questions – and the department’s many questions – terrified her. She needed answers. “You fled the scene with him.”

His breathing quickened at the thought, mind racing and struggling to comprehend just what had happened in the days before he’d woken up in this hospital bed. But there was nothing. He remembered looking into his father, confirming the truth with his mother. He remembered working a difficult case with Calleigh, having dinner with his family, leaving Calleigh the truffles and making plans with her… He remembered the feel of her hand in his, soft and distinct, and he remembered coming to work the next day feeling much lighter, but he remembered nothing more about his father.

“No, he has a hit on me,” Eric told her, wishing the words sounded more certain. “I’ve been trying to track him down.” And then his eyes narrowed on her, suspicious but more concerned, because he’d been trying to keep her safe. “How do you know about Sharova?”

And then her world fell out from under her. Because they’d talked about this, they’d argued for a _week_ about the father he didn’t know, and in all her doubts about trust and motive she hadn’t even considered he might not be able to confirm or quell them. She’d expected answers if he woke, and when he had she was ready to get them.

“Eric,” she began shakily, uncurling her fingers from his. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in frustration as he tried to think back. It was like trying to find a file without any of the necessary information, though. He had snippets of places and people, but he couldn’t put any of them in context. The last solid thing that came to him was Calleigh, her showing up at his place, holding her hand in his, falling asleep easily that night and waking the next morning to go to work… After that it faded, became hazy at the edges as time just sort of dropped off.

“I don’t know.” He tried harder, desperately searching for that day to come back to him. “I remember coming to work the day after you came to my place to thank me for the truffles… You and Ryan took the early call-out and the house caught fire. I remember worrying about you because you tried to be a hero and get the body out.” Shaking his head, he exhaled heavily. “That’s it. I don’t remember anything else about my father. I don’t remember…” Trailing off, he found her gaze again and waited for some help. This was much different than last time, when certain events and people escaped him. This time, it seemed he’d lost an entire chunk of time, and he had no idea what important events had been lost.

For an entirely different reason now, her eyes watered and she had to place a hand back on the bed to steady herself. Four months ago. That last thing he remembered was from _four months ago._ Panic swelled within her and the only thing that tore her from it was the feel of his warm, familiar fingers circling her wrist. His tired eyes were practically pleading with her and she tilted her head, sympathetic yet guarded.

“That was four months ago,” she finally told him, watching with a pained expression as panic overtook him, too. She breathed in deeply, clinging to hope but expecting hell. “You don’t remember Sharova helping you?” No reaction; he was at a loss. Her façade crumbled and she pressed her lips together tightly in a desperate attempt to ward off tears. And then, in the softest voice he’d ever heard from her, she asked, “Do you remember us?”

It hit him again.

_Her smile beneath his lips, creamy legs tangled with his, the feel of her hair slipping through his fingers…_

And that was it – as elusive as a dream. He had snippets, or dreams, but nothing else. How could he tell her that she felt like home to him, when he couldn’t even remember a single thing they’d done together? That thought terrified him and sent his mind reeling for any recollection of them, of her. The absence he found there was devastating.

“I don’t think so,” he reluctantly admitted, hating the way her features fell. Undeterred, his fingers traced hers in the only contact he could have given the distance she was keeping.

Four months. Four months he’d lost of his life, of _their_ lives, apparently. Somewhere, deep down, he knew something had changed between them. Her touch resonated too deeply, too intimately, for things to have stayed anywhere close to platonic. And now both his heart and his mind literally ached for those four months. Because, even with the specific details missing, he knew what he’d felt for her, what they’d been to each other.

“This is gonna sound crazy, but I know how I feel about you. I remember you…that we were together, how I felt about you, that I was in love with you…” He stopped abruptly, the amazed but terrified look in her eyes telling him they hadn’t quite said that yet.

But she knew. God, she knew, and the last place she ever wanted to hear it was in a hospital, when she didn’t even know if she could trust him anymore. Everything had changed, and a part of her wondered if he had, too.

She couldn’t go there right now, couldn’t talk about them and everything he’d lost, but she took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on his. “It doesn’t sound crazy,” she assured him, thinking of the past four months. More crazy was how quickly she’d trusted and fallen, how fast the notion of home had come to involve him despite their separate houses as a much-needed boundary. After how the past few weeks had played out, maybe that had all been a mistake. “But a lot has happened, Eric.”

“You can tell me,” he urged, fingers grasping at her as she pulled away. He was aching for those details, for the memories of them; she could see it in his eyes, so much different than the expression they’d held just a day ago.

Calleigh shook her head, thinking of the anger, the betrayal, in his eyes when he’d swerved away in that car. If he knew – if he _remembered_ – then he might not even want her here right now. She hadn’t trusted him, and that mistrust may have been well placed considering the circumstances. She would never know for sure now, not unless these past few weeks would come magically waltzing back into his conscious collection of memories.

It would be easier for him to hate her for this than to remember what they’d lost, to remember that betrayal and suspicion.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was a soft whisper and she shook her head, wiping a lone tear from her cheek with the tips of her fingers. “I’m glad you’re okay, but I can’t do this.”

With that, she was gone, taking his memories and his heart with her. And now he was the one with unanswered questions.


	3. In Keeping Secrets

It felt good to be at home – and right now that wasn’t her house, where memories of him lay in wait around every corner, but rather in her ballistics lab. Here she knew what to expect, and she could immerse herself in bullet weights and striations instead of stolen memories and feelings.

This whole situation was complicated, and guns were simple, familiar, and comforting. She could lose herself in the tedious work of processing each gun – checking for trace, conducting an overall inspection, identifying the ammo, gearing up, test firing, and analyzing. That process was ingrained enough in her to be soothing, yet it required just enough brainpower to almost distract her from the thought of Eric lying in the hospital without any recollection of how he’d ended up there.

She didn’t dare let herself consider what other memories from the past four months he’d lost. If she went there, she knew she might not come back.

Instead she threw herself into work, spreading case files out over the table and lining up guns to test fire. By the time her goggles and earmuffs were on and she was poised at the range for her favorite part, an uncharacteristic hesitance had settled over her.

It was just a 9 mil, similar to hers, but as she slapped a loaded magazine into the base and rocked the slide back to chamber the first round, she felt uneasy instead of comforted. And when she took her stance, aimed, and pulled the trigger, she knew just why.

Eric. She’d  _ shot _ at Eric.

She’d thought she would have been above the psychological manifestations of such an event, at least professionally, but no. Every time she squeezed that damn trigger,  _ Eric _ came into her field of view – Eric in that car, barreling out of the garage and swerving away from her. The confusion in his eyes haunted her with every crack of a gunshot.

After only a few shots she had to recollect, locking the safety and bracing herself against the counter. Closing her eyes, she willed away the image of him at the scene and desperately tried to force back the sweeping realization that she could’ve killed him yesterday. It was futile, though. He plagued her every waking moment, both personally and professionally.

She lowered her head, running her fingers through her long hair to pull back the curtain of blonde that had surrounded her. It was only then, when she’d collected her hair over one shoulder and turned around, that she noticed Natalia in her lab.

“Hey… Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt.” Natalia turned, glancing from the gun Calleigh currently had out to the spread of open cases on her desk. It was mostly a diversion so Calleigh wouldn’t pick up on the genuine worry in her eyes.

Natalia had to admit that she was still a little gun shy. Gunshots still made her jump and when she had to squeeze the trigger in the field, the thought of potentially taking a life, even a criminal’s life, was enough to make her hesitate. She was tough, and proud of her ability to protect herself – and her team – in the field, but for her it was natural that shooting a gun still made her flinch a little.

For Calleigh, however, flinching was unheard of. Natalia knew she’d grown up around guns and had entered the academy fresh out of college. She’d always intended to work with guns in a law enforcement setting, and Natalia had never seen her appear anything less than absolutely certain about taking a shot.

Today, though, Calleigh had flinched. After every shot, Natalia had watched her body involuntarily jump in reaction until the ordeal had finally overwhelmed her and she closed her eyes. Nothing shook Calleigh this much…nothing except Eric, apparently. Because even though Calleigh had brushed it off and delivered a bunch of patented, perfected lines of ‘I’m fine’ to everyone, Natalia knew she wasn’t. You don’t shoot at your boyfriend, spend hours wondering if he’s alive, and return to work the next day unscathed.

“Oh, hey.” Shifting uncomfortably, Calleigh tried to force a friendly smile. “It’s okay. I just have to get these and run a striation comparison. What’s up?”

Calleigh was already distractedly moving about the room, keeping busy and staying in motion where she’d normally give her full attention to the conversation at hand. Natalia simply watched her, hesitating in response as she absentmindedly toyed with a ring on one of her fingers.

“Look, I know that you say you’re fine, and I respect that.” She kept her eyes on Calleigh’s restless frame. “I really do. So, I wanted to just let you work while Ryan and I took care of the whole Sharova thing…”

“But…?” Calleigh asked knowingly as she placed a bullet beneath a scope.

“But he won’t talk.” Eyes still on Calleigh, she watched her mouth tighten, watched her quickly swallow the lump of anxiety in her throat that threatened her resolve. “He says he’ll only talk to you.”

* * *

Calleigh wanted absolutely no part of this – none at all. She’d tried to distance herself from it, tried to protect Eric without crossing a line herself, and yet here she was. She felt like  _ that _ cop – the one certain criminals asked for while all the other officers turned their heads – and she was furious that Eric was still managing to drag her further into this mess.

All business, she entered the holding cell with barely a glance his way and slapped a case file on the table. She slid the chair in close, unafraid, yet settled in with her arms and legs crossed, her back pressed against the chair for a bit of distance. It went against Interrogation 101, but she knew that wasn’t what this was anyway.

When he still hadn’t said a word, she looked directly at him and raised her brows expectantly. She couldn’t last long; his blue eyes were piercing, yet they somehow reminded her of Eric.

“How is Eric? They won’t tell me anything,” Alexander said, a thick Russian accent coloring his words.

“You aren’t really in a position to be asking for information.” Her eyes drifted pointedly to the cuffs around his wrists.

The left side of his mouth curved into a precarious smirk. His eyes drifted over her features curiously. She was good at this, he was sure – clever, probably, but so was he. “No? I know quite a bit.”

“Like what?” Unaffected, her eyes danced over him, though she suddenly recognized this as a chance to get her answers.

“How’s my son?”

Now there was the fire he was sure had been lurking just beneath her sea green eyes. He smiled, testing her as her eyes practically bore through him with disdain.

“Don’t call him that.” Her words had a practiced, calculated coolness to them that her eyes could never achieve.

Alexander pursed his lips. “How is he?”

“Fine.”

He waited for more, eyes growing expectant when she failed to continue. “That’s it? I know you must know more…”

There was a playfulness to his words, a teasing, that she immediately picked up on. Her eyes narrowed on him slightly. It was just for a moment, but he knew he’d piqued her interest.

“Don’t worry, he wouldn’t tell me,” Alexander assured, yet something in his tone was still condescending. “He was hesitant about certain things – where we met, how he was involved. Protective, almost…about something, some _ one _ .” He lifted his cuffed hands to his head, where his thumb could scrape across his brow. “And then I saw how worried you were at the scene and I knew.”

Calleigh’s eyes challenged his as though the words were pointless. In a way, they were. “I work every day to put people like you away,” she said coldly. “Why would I give you information?”

“People like me?” The heavy Russian accent rolled off his tongue and he pointed a finger at his own chest, shrugging. “You don’t know me.”

“Does Eric?”

“He knows enough.”

“I’m sure,” Calleigh retorted accusingly. Her eyes engaged his with a ferocity that impressed him.

“How is he?” Alexander pressed.

“He needed stitches and a transfusion, but he’s fine,” she offered convincingly. She couldn’t trust him, couldn’t risk him taking advantage of Eric’s memory loss in order to sway things in his favor. “He’s making a list right now for us – names, locations…” Pressing her lips together, she leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, mirroring him. They needed answers for the investigation;  _ she _ needed answers for herself. “If you talk now, we can still bargain with the ADA on your charges.”

He grinned, amused by the realization that he could trust her as little as she thought she could trust him. Moving his hands to his chin, he scratched his unshaven face with worn, tired fingers.

“Eric knows how dangerous that information is,” he began, pressing his fingers to his lips contemplatively. “He wouldn’t want you to have it. I wouldn’t even let him know of certain locations… Even so, they’ll be looking for him.” His blue eyes held hers. “Is he still in the hospital?”

Jaw set, Calleigh refused to answer. She didn’t trust him at all, not even in light of his seemingly genuine concern or the way his eyes changed shape like Eric’s when he smiled. She was trying not to notice.

“He knows too much.” Alexander lowered his hands, but kept his eyes on her. “By now, they have a hit on him again. Keep him in the hospital as long as you can. They’ll find his house and wait for him.”

Swallowing hard, she focused on the case. And maybe if they could find these men, if they could climb high enough up the chain, the hit would be forgotten. Maybe, if she worked the case hard enough, she could keep them from Eric.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” she said after collecting herself enough. “Maybe give me some real information.”

Alexander frowned and leaned back in his chair. “That kind of information will put a crosshair on your back.”

“Good to know,” she let out sarcastically, a sardonic smile just barely tugging at her lips. Collecting the unnecessary case file in her hands, she sighed and stood. “Have me paged if you decide to tell me something useful.”

“You start looking into them, and they’ll take you out before you get close.” He straightened slightly. “Eric learned that the hard way.”

Her eyes were cold, direct, and yet below the surface was the sweeping realization that he’d given her the most vital information after all.

_ By now, they have a hit on him again. _

Calleigh turned without regret, passing the two guards as familiar uneasiness made her chest tighten with anxiety. Struggling to breathe through the sudden ache, her usually steady, controlled walk took on a hurried pace.

_ Keep him in the hospital as long as you can. They’ll find his house and wait for him. _

He was in danger, and maybe he deserved that. Maybe he’d done more than cross a line, and maybe she couldn’t trust him. Still, she knew what she had to do.

* * *

Room 327 was a mystery to her now. With its shades drawn and door closed, she had no idea what was going on inside – no idea  _ who _ was inside even. She hoped it was him, and then she rolled her eyes sadly at the thought of wishing him  _ in _ to a hospital when they’d spent so much time wishing each other out.

She didn’t realize she’d come to a standstill in the middle of the hallway until one of the orderlies had to awkwardly sidestep her. Moving out of the way, she pressed her lips together as she eyed the folder by the door. She made sure her black top was hooked atop her holster, revealing her badge, before she stepped in close and rose up on the tips of her toes to check the label.

Eric Delko.

Relief overwhelmed her, though it was short-lived.

“Now I know that you know visiting hours are over,” came the familiar, smooth, and velvety voice. Alexx.

Calleigh turned, smiling as much as she could muster under the circumstances. “I wasn’t visiting,” she defended playfully, though Alexx noted the underlying sadness in her eyes. “I was just checking to see if he’d been discharged yet. H wanted to know when we could expect to speak with Eric about everything.”

Alexx smiled, but tilted her head questioningly. CSIs were good liars in general, and Calleigh was exceptionally hard to read, but the thought of Calleigh here for work – not a visit – just rubbed her a little wrong. She smiled her way through it.

“Well, I checked in on him earlier,” Alexx began with a glance to his door. “He’s doing great physically. Losing several months of memories is a little concerning, though, but not uncommon.” She shrugged. “I’m sure his doctor will want to monitor him for a few days, maybe a week, for clots and neurological symptoms, but he’s healing quickly already.”

Releasing the bated breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, Calleigh sighed and placed a hand over her anxiety-ridden stomach. “That’s good.”

“Mmhmm,” Alexx muttered sarcastically. “It’s a miracle, actually. You all need to stop counting on them and quit throwing yourselves at bullets, speeding in cars, and running into burning buildings.”

When even that barely drew an appreciative smile from Calleigh, Alexx knew something was wrong. Her eyes were cloudy and conflicted, and her entire body seemed uneasy – fingers fidgeted with each other, her posture needed the support of the wall, and she looked literally sick with worry.

“Calleigh,” she said softly, drawing Calleigh’s eyes to hers. “How long had you and Eric been seeing each other?”

Straightening, Calleigh was about to ask how Alexx knew, but soon realized it was pointless. This was Alexx.

Her lips curved upward but it wasn’t a smile at all. “Four months?” she offered, brows knitting together for a moment before she shrugged.

“He doesn’t remember,” Alexx realized aloud. “Baby,” she began sympathetically, lifting a hand to touch Calleigh’s shoulder supportively.

“No,” Calleigh insisted, shaking her head dismissively. Alexx’s hand never made contact, instead slowly retracing its path back to her side. “I think it’s better this way.”


End file.
